Season Six Challenge from OnyxNYC
by fanofkdc
Summary: A challenge was set to write a fic based on the season six finale, so there is a major spoiler warning here do not proceed any further if you do not want an inkling of what happens. For this reason, I will not post a summary.


Onyx N.Y.C.'s challenge

1. 1000 Words Max

2. Must contain GSR as that is the scene we are hoping for

3. Due by Midnight Sunday, April 23rd

Untitled fic as a response to the above challenge. Obviously, if you don't wish to be spoiled in regards to the season six finale, please don't read it. I don't want to plunge any spoilerholics back into a debilitating and energy-consuming habit. My name is _fanofkdc_, and I will be host for the next 1000+ words - please note that this is the extended response.

An array of CSIs, both day-shift and night-shift, and clusters of policemen milled around the hospital corridors, getting in the way of doctors and nurses trying to carry our their various medical tasks.

Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders and Sara Sidle were standing outside Jim Brass's room, waiting for news on any change in his condition. Catherine Willows was the next floor down, waiting for Lindsay to come around from her general anaesthetic, and Warrick Brown had decided to stay behind at LVPD headquarters to interview Brass's shooter. And Gil Grissom sat beside his best friend's bed, knowing that he was the only person there for Brass, knowing that one day it could _him_ lying in that bed. He began to wonder at who would be sitting there next to him, if anyone.

"How long's he been there?" Greg asked, leaning against the wall opposite Brass's room.

Nick shrugged and Sara sighed. "Since Jim came in," she replied, rubbing a hand in her eye. Secretly, she had stayed at the hospital in between her shifts, losing three days worth of sleep. Not that that was an unfamiliar situation. Besides, what was a little sleep deprivation when her close friend (she liked to think of Grissom that way) was going through a personal hell. After all, despite all of their arguments, disagreements and other tough times, he had _always_ been there for her.

A sudden beeping noise was emitted from one of the many machines monitoring Brass's vitals and non-vitals. Grissom jumped up in a panic, pressed the emergency button beside Brass's head, and scrambled for the door. "Nurse!" he screamed down the corridor. "I need help in here right now, goddamn it," he yelled. Several nurses had already been alerted to the situation, and two doctors came sliding along the tiled hospital corridor behind them. They began to charge the defibrillator pads, and two nurses gently pushed Grissom out of his friend's room.

His CSIs looked on in helplessness at his pacing form, and Sara stepped forward. "Gil, take a seat, you're not going to do anyone any good getting yourself worked up," she told him gently. She helped him into a chair and stood next to him, a protective sentinel.

After several minutes of frantic hubbub, Jim's room fell ominously silence. One doctor examined the clock on the wall in the room, said something to the others gathered in the room, and dejectedly pushed the door open to the waiting crowd. He sought out Grissom, who stood up to meet him.

"What happened?" Grissom asked, knowing full well that it wasn't good.

"We've done everything we could, but the bullet frags in the heart caused residual leakage. He must have started to bleed internally after the surgery yesterday, and he slipped into shock. No-one could have stopped it, the surgery only prolonged his life. I'm afraid we had to pronounce."

Grissom's lips and face tightened, and he nodded, turning his back on the doctor in front of me. In a fit of anger, frustration and distress, he slammed his fist into the wall behind him, hard enough to dent the plaster ever so slightly. Without a word, he stalked off down the corridor, leaving speechless CSIs and police officers to come to terms with the death of one of their own.

Sara exchanged a look with Greg and Nick. "I've got it," she called over her shoulder, following Grissom along the white, sterile floors that were drenched in hope and tragedy.

Sara found Grissom sitting against the front left-hand wheel of his car. "I'm sorry," she apologised, sitting next to him.

"Not as much as me," he replied. "Look at it. He has no-one else. His wife had an affair, his daughter is a gold-digger, and not actually _his_, so he ends up giving _me_ the power of attorney. He was all alone." He stared off into the distance, two tears tracing down his cheeks.

"How's your hand? You hit that wall pretty hard," Sara said, picking up his hand and examining the angry bruise developing.

"Fine," he answered. For all he knew, she could have been talking about the weather.

"Give me your car keys," she instructed him, squeezing his shoulder.

"What?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm taking you home. You haven't had any sleep in almost three days. You need some rest." She held out her hand to him and helped him up with some difficulty.

"Jeez, I'm getting too old to do that. My knees are giving up on me," he muttered under his breath.

Sara insisted on seeing Grissom to his apartment.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he insisted, accepting his car keys from Sara.

"After all you've done for me at times like this, it would be rude of me not to," she told him.

Grissom held the door open for her, hung up his coat on a hook on the back of the front door. "Can I get you anything?"

Sara cast a sympathetic eye over him. "You've just lost your friend. It should _me_ asking you that question, but seeing as you asked, you can find me a blanket. You sleep in your bed, I can take the couch."

Grissom frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not leaving you here on your own, Gil. You really should have someone staying with you. Or do you want to be on your own?"

A look of fright crept into his eyes. "I don't wanna be on my own," he murmured. His eyes scanned her, the woman he'd wanted for so many years right in front of him, offering to stay with him.

Sara thought he was about to cry, and didn't understand the context in which he was studying her. "Come here," she said holding her arms out. He slowly and cautiously approached her, allowing her to envelope him in her arms. "You can cry," she whispered in his ear. "It's okay to cry."

Grissom held her tightly. "I think this has taught me something. I don't need to cry," he partially lied. "Looking at what happened to Jim …. it's made me realise that you don't know when you're going to die. There may be things you want to do, but you're too afraid to just reach out and take that chance. Well I'm sick of being cautious. I'm getting old enough as it is. Tomorrow could be too late," he rambled.

"Don't say that," Sara replied, still not getting the gist of what he was trying to say.

He broke away from her and looked at her once again with those blue eyes, a fire burning behind them. Without warning, he pushed her up against the wall, holding her down by her wrist. His head dipped, and he kissed her roughly.

Sara wasn't prepared for the sensation of his beard scraping across her cheek, but she cupped his head and pulled him to her with her free hand.

"God," Sara gasped, catching her breath. "I wasn't ready for that."

"It's been too long," he growled in her ear. "But I want you. I _need_ you, and I was too fucking stupid to realise that first time around. If you stay tonight, you're sleeping in my bed, and we're going to make love. It should have been done long ago, but Jim dying has caused me to see that I was stupid to delay this."

"Are you sure?"

"I thought you wanted this."

"I do. But I don't want you to wake up next to me and think that you've only done this because you were emotional."

He pressed her harder against the wall. "That won't happen." He suddenly relinquished his grip on one wrist, guiding her after him to his bedroom with the other.

He laid her on the bed gently, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. They kissed again, all the time managing to disrobe each other, their fumbling hands occasionally having to guide the other's in the right direction.

Neither had slept with anyone else in a long time, and both were slightly apprehensive at how they would be able to perform. Despite his earlier decisiveness, Grissom was anything but rough, treating Sara with something akin to amazing respect. She stroked his back and comforted him, assured him that he was doing the right things, urging him forward ever so slightly.

Then, finished, drained and sated, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Sara woke up the next morning, saw Grissom lying next to her. She reached out and traced her fingers over his muscular arms. She was surprised at how buff and trim he actually was, as he often hid behind shirts and jackets that did not naturally exhibit his physique. He would always be naturally stocky, but had begun to lose weight so that he was near to gaining back the trim figure he had when she had first come to work in Vegas.

"Grissom?" she whispered, still tracing her fingers over him.

The figure in front of her blinked drowsily, his blues becoming more exposed with each flick of his eyelids. "Hmm? Hey," he grumbled, taking a moment to appreciate Sara in all her natural beauty.

"You regretting anything yet?" she asked uncertainly.

His arm reached out and pulled her body towards him. "No," he whispered. "You?"

"No." She ran a hand through his hair.

"Where do we go from here?" He placed one hand on her naked back, the other stroked her brown locks.

"I haven't though about that," she confessed. "When you don't think you're going to even get a kiss or a hug from a person you like, you tend to get a bit confused when you skip that part and end up in bed with them."

"We did make love, though, didn't we?" he asked. "That wasn't just an emotional fuck?"

"It was emotional, I'll give you that," Sara replied. "But I'd like to think it signified more that a purely biological instinct."

Grissom paused for a moment, his lack of sleep and dark beard making him look gaunt. He bit his lip, his eyes cast downwards. "I …. I love you," he said finally, quietly.

Sara tilted her head up to his, allowing her lips to graze his softly. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that?" she asked, her mouth teasing his.

"Too long," he guessed, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss which, when it ended, resulted in the both of them drawing ragged breaths.

"I love you too," Sara said, resting her head against his beautifully sculpted chest.

He ran his hands over her comfortingly, savouring the warmth and safety another person in his bed brought. "Will you stay?" he murmured into her hair.

"Sure."

He could feel her breath against his chest and closed his eyes. "I mean it. I want you to stay with me ….".

"I know what you meant," Sara cut him off, squeezing him tightly.

Grissom returned the gesture, both of them dropping off into a more restful and healing sleep.

THE END.


End file.
